EIGHT
' kids '

☾⋆₊✧

NOVEMBER
1993

ONCE they got to the infirmary, most of the Gryffindor quidditch team were flanked around Harry's bedside. Hermione, Ron, and Callie all rushed over. Harry was still asleep; the fall had indeed been grim.

"Lucky the ground was so soft."

"I thought he was dead for sure."

"But he didn't even break his glasses."

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Quiet now," Callie hissed at everyone. "He's waking up."

Harry's eyes then snapped open. He regarded his surroundings, confused, as if he didn't remember where he was or how he'd even got there.

"Harry!" Fred exclaimed. "How're you feeling?"

"What happened?" he asked, sitting up so suddenly that everyone gasped.

"You fell off," Fred told him. "Must've been—what—fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," Alicia Spinnet, one of the chasers admitted.

Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. She'd barely said a word after Callie got back to her feet and they left the pitch. She wrapped an arm around the girl's trembling shoulders, pulling her in close to comfort.

"But the match," Harry said. "What happened? Are we having a replay?"

No one had the heart to say anything. They watched as the horrible truth began to sink into Harry.

"We didn't—lose?"

"Diggory got the snitch," George said. "Just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a re-match. But they won fair and square... even Wood admits it."

"Where is Wood?" Harry asked, suddenly realizing that their captain was not there.

"Still in the showers," Fred said. "We think he's trying to drown himself."

Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Callie knew how badly he and the team had all wanted to win this game, how much effort they'd been putting in to practice. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly.

The girl could only watch him with pity as she held Hermione's hand, and a pack of ice in the other, nursing her head. Madam Pomfrey eventually came over after ten minutes, dismissing everyone but Callie, Hermione, and Ron. Madame Pomfrey then bent down next to Callie, taking a look at the bump on her forehead. She was lucky after the fall she took that's all she came out with. With a quick spell, most of the pain suddenly subsided from her head, and she dropped the ice pack that had been turning her hand blue.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked her, frowning at the bump that was already beginning to shrink.

She smiled. "Don't worry about me, Harry. You look worse."

"Dumbledore was really angry," Hermione said in a quaking voice. "I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the pitch as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the Dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium straight away... he was furious they'd come into the ground, we heard him—"

"Then he magicked you on a stretcher," Ron interrupted. "And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were..."

No one finished the sentence.

But Harry didn't seem to be listening. The three of them stared at him, until he looked up again. "Did someone get my Nimbus?"

Callie, Hermione and Ron all exchanged nervous glances.

"Er–"

"What?" Harry asked, looking between them.

"Well... when you fell off, it got blown away," Hermione said, hesitantly.

"And?"

"And it—it hit—"

"It hit the Whomping Willow," Callie admitted.

"And?"

"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," Ron said. "It—it doesn't like being hit."

"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came round," Callie said, in a small voice.

Slowly, Hermione reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside-down and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed; the only remains of Harry's broomstick.

Harry looked as if he were about to faint, again.

"Sorry, Harry," was all they could say.

Hermione and Ron were eventually sent out, though Madame Pomfrey wanted to keep Calista for another few hours to make sure she didn't have a concussion or any other lingering effects from her own fainting, as she deemed it. Harry was most likely going to be there the entire weekend. Callie couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy. She knew all too well the frustration of being bedridden, of feeling trapped in a hospital bed while the rest of the world moved on without her.

With a quiet determination, she dragged one of the beds closer to his. They sat in companionable silence for a while, the hum of the infirmary filling the space. She could sense Harry's unease, the way he kept glancing at her and then back at the ceiling, his brow furrowed as if debating whether to say something. Finally, he spoke.

"Can I tell you something?"

Callie turned her head to him. "Of course."

"But promise not to tell Ron or Hermione," he added quickly. "Ron's going to freak out again, and Hermione won't take it seriously."

"I'm not one to judge."

Harry nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I know. That's why I feel like I can tell you this." He paused, then took a breath. "I've seen the Grim before. And today during the match, I saw it again."

Callie blinked, her curiosity piqued. "The Grim? From Divination?"

He nodded again. "When I ran away from my aunt and uncle's over the summer, I was waiting for the Knight Bus."

She nodded, remembering his story about accidentally inflating his aunt.

"There was this giant black dog waiting in the shadows behind me. It was huge—like, unnaturally big. When I looked again, it was gone. Then the Knight Bus nearly ran me over."

Callie tilted her head, her brows furrowing. "And during the match?"

"There was a shadow in the sky," Harry said, his voice dropping. "It was the same shape. A dog, Callie. That's when the Dementors came, and I fell, and... you know the rest."

Callie's stomach twisted uncomfortably, and she swallowed hard. "Harry... I saw that, too."

His head snapped toward her, his green eyes wide. "You did?"

She nodded slowly. "It was just for a second, right before everything went blurry. I saw the outline of a dog in the clouds. But then... it was gone. And that's when I—" She hesitated, her throat tightening. "That's when I fainted and hit my head."

Harry stared at her for a moment, as though he didn't know whether to be relieved or more alarmed. "Did anyone else see it?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "It was so fast. It felt like it was meant for just us to see."

They fell into silence again, the weight of their shared experience settling over them. Callie could see the worry etched into Harry's features, the way his fingers nervously fiddled with the edge of his blanket.

"You think it means something?" she asked quietly.

Harry shrugged, though his expression betrayed him. "In Divination, they said the Grim means death. And then the Dementors showed up, and... I don't know. Maybe it's just bad luck following me around. It wouldn't be the first time."

Callie frowned. "That can't be it. There has to be more to it than that."

"Maybe," Harry murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But every time the Dementors come near me, I feel like I'm dying already. I swear I heard my mom's voice- screaming. From that night."

Callie's heart ached at his words. She didn't need to hear anything more. She reached over and lightly tapped his hand, drawing his attention back to her.

"You're still here, Harry. Whatever it means, whatever's following you... you're still here."

He managed a faint smile, but his eyes remained distant. "Yeah," he said softly. "For now."

☾⋆₊✧

Harry was released from the infirmary at the start of the week, after receiving many visits and gifts from various Gryffindors. Callie had been free to go shortly after Harry's confession to her, but she'd stayed there until curfew. When she had been bedridden in the past—whether from sickness or exhaustion—she'd always appreciated having company, even if it was just someone sitting nearby, passing the time. So, she figured Harry might feel the same. She thought it cheered him up some, but she could tell that the whole concept of the Grim and the Dementors had really hit him where it hurt, up there.

After he had told her about his encounters, she wasn't sure what she believed. The Grim seemed like a load of rubbish, or at least that's what Callie thought with Hermione complaining in her ear about Divination all the time. But there were far weirder things that existed in the world, and Harry having two near death incidents after seeing a black dog seemed to have started to make some sense. If Callie had seen it too that same afternoon... well, the two of them were going to have to be as careful as ever.

She had dodged Death so far. A stray dog certainly wasn't going to make it very far in its persuit.

"If Snape's taking Defence Against the Dark Arts again, I'm going off sick," Ron told their group as they reached her father's classroom that Monday. He motioned to Hermione, "Check who's in there, Hermione." He, Harry, and Callie were too anxious to do it themselves.

She peered around the classroom door. Her face lit up as she said, "It's OK!"

Dad was back then, thank Merlin. As they eagerly entered the classroom, it certainly looked as though he had been ill the past week. She'd been so caught up in her own messes, she hadn't even gone to check in on him. His usual robes seemed to hang more loosely on him and the dark shadows beneath his eyes were more distinguishable than ever. The full moon hadn't had this bad of an effect on him in a while, not to the point where he was hiding for multiple days. Despite how worn out he was, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, eyes lingering on Calista a while longer. Then, everyone burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behaviour while he had been gone.

"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he set us homework?"

"We don't know anything about werewolves—"

"—two rolls of parchment!"

"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Remus asked, frowning slightly.

The babble broke out again.

"Yes, but he said we were really behind—"

"—he wouldn't listen—"

"–two rolls of parchment!"

Dad just smiled at the look of indignation on every face. "Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."

"Oh no," Hermione sighed, looking very disappointed. "I've already finished it!"

Callie patted her hand sympathetically.

They had a very enjoyable lesson compared to the prior. Remus had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who seemed as though he was made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking. Callie tilted her head as she regarded it. It was kind of cute.

"Lures travellers into bogs," Dad explained as everyone took notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead—people follow the light—then—"

The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass. Callie winced. Maybe not cute, then.

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, but then Remus called out, "Wait a moment, Harry, Calista. I'd like a word."

Calista and Harry both stopped, turning to look at each other.

"I heard about the match," Remus began, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase, "and I'm sorry about your broomstick, Harry. Is there any chance of fixing it?"

"No," Harry replied solemnly. "The tree smashed it to bits."

Remus sighed. "They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, still mourning the loss of his beloved broomstick.

"And you, my dear," Remus stepped up to Calista, his expression soft with concern, "how's your head? Madame Pomfrey told me you took a nasty fall."

"It's fine," she said, waving off his worry, though the dull ache still lingered at the back of her skull.

Remus gave her a pointed look. "It's not good for you to be out in that weather."

"I'll watch from the Astronomy Tower next time," she quipped, crossing her arms.

"Did you hear about the Dementors, too?" Harry then spoke up, but not without difficulty.

Remus looked at him quickly, pulling his hand from Callie's face. "Yes, I did. I don't think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time... furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds... I suppose they were the reason you fell?"

"Yes," Harry answered. He hesitated, before asking. "Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just—?"

"It has nothing to do with weakness," Remus cut him off sharply, as though he had read Harry's mind. "The Dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't have."

A ray of wintry sunlight fell across the classroom, illuminating the grey hairs and the lines on Remus' young face. Years of struggles and sorrows, and Callie could see it all so clearly at that moment.

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory, will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself—soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

Callie's mind wandered back to the two times the Dementors had gotten near her, and how awful she had felt. There were moments and times that she never wanted to remember that were forced upon her again.

"And the worst that has happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."

"When they get near me—" Harry stared at Remus' desk, before admitting, "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."

Remus made a sudden motion with his arm as though he had made to grip Harry's shoulder, but thought better of it. There was a moment's silence; then—

"Why did they have to come to the match?" Harry spat bitterly.

"They're getting hungry," Remus admitted coolly, shutting his briefcase with a snap. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up... I don't think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch pitch. All that excitement... emotions running high... it was their idea of a feast."

"Azkaban must be terrible," Harry muttered. Remus nodded grimly.

"The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks."

"But Sirius Black escaped from them," Harry said slowly. "He got away..."

Remus' briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it.

"Yes," he cleared his throat, straightening up. "Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible... Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long..."

"You made that Dementor on the train back off," Harry suddenly seemed to remember.

"There are... certain defences one can use," Remus admitted. "But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist."

"What defences?" Harry asked at once. "Can you teach me?"

"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry—quite the contrary..."

"But if the Dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them."

The older man looked into Harry's determined face, hesitated, then said, "Well... all right. I'll try and help. But it'll have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."

☾⋆₊✧

Winter quickly approached, which would bring about the end of first term. The sky lightened to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays.

Callie was, of course, staying at the castle.

Dad had decided at the start of term it would be better if they stayed instead of returning to their cottage in Yorkshire. Probably something to do with Sirius Black, like everything seemed to be these days. Their Christmases at home were never much of a spectacle anyway, so they'd indulge in the castle feast as well as the comfort it had to offer. Remus always tried to get at least one gift for Callie, which she would unwrap underneath one of the pine trees he'd chop down from the forest. Callie obviously had no money of her own, or access to the shops, so she would craft something herself for her father for him to look forward to each morning. She'd done some drawings when she was younger, cooking or baking for the day, and in more recent years, she'd surprised him with mended clothing or tools he thought beyond repair.

This year, she wasn't sure what to make him. She wasn't even sure if they were going to celebrate together, or even with the small population that was staying at the castle.

She was relieved to find out that Harry was staying behind, as well as Hermione and Ron to accompany him. What she wasn't relieved to hear was that just before term was about to end, there was another trip to Hogsmeade. Another one that neither Harry nor Calista had permission to go on.

Harry watched from the clock tower that morning as the students began the journey to the village, Filch yelling around them. Harry looked so disappointed, Calista thought he might jump.

He sighed annoyingly, tilting back his head. "It's not fair."

"Tell me about it," Callie responded as she flipped through her Sherlock book she only recently had the chance to pick up again. "I reckon it's even more fun at this time of year."

The two decided to head to the kitchens to get a snack. Snow was beginning to decorate the grounds once more, and the castle was very still and quiet.

"Psst—Harry, Callie!"

The two turned to see Fred and George peering out at them from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

"What are you doing?" Callie asked curiously.

"How come you're not going to Hogsmeade?" Harry added.

"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," Fred replied with a mysterious wink. "Come in here." He nodded towards an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed statue.

The two followed the twins inside. George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Callie and Harry.

"Early Christmas present for you guys," he said as Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it.

Callie, suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it blankly. "What's that supposed to be?" she asked them.

"This, Little Lupin, is the secret of our success," George answered, patting the parchment fondly. Fred reached out, and booped her on the nose.

"It's a wrench, giving it to you two," he said sadly, "but we decided last night, your needs are greater than ours!"

"Anyway, we know it off by heart," George continued. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it any more."

"And what would either of us need with a bit of old parchment?" Harry questioned.

"A bit of old parchment," Fred repeated, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."

"Well... when we were in our first year—young, and carefree and innocent..." Callie snorted. She doubted Fred and George had ever been innocent.

"—well, more innocent than we are now—we got into a spot of bother with Filch,"

"We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason,"

"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual,"

"Detention,"

"Disembowelment,"

"And we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."

"Don't tell me," Harry said, starting to grin.

"Well, what would you've done?" Fred quipped. "George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open and grabbed—this."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," George said. "We don't reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."

"And you know how to work it?" Callie asked.

"Oh yes," Fred replied, smirking. "This little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in this school!"

"You're winding me up," Harry said, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment.

"Oh, are we?" George responded. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they criss-crossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to presentTHE MARAUDER'S MAP

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing was the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labelled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Callie and Harry both bent over it. A labelled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat, Mrs Norris, was prowling the second floor, and Peeves the poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Callie's eyes travelled up and down the familiar corridors, she noticed something else. This map showed a set of passages she had never entered before, never even knew about. And many of them seemed to lead—

"Right into Hogsmeade," Fred finished. He traced one of them with his finger. "There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four," he pointed them out, "but we're sure we're the only ones who know about these. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it's caved in—completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times. And as you might've noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone's hump."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," George sighed, patting the heading of the map. "We owe them so much."

"That's an interesting lot," Callie commented.

"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of law-breakers," Fred shook his head in amazement.

"Right," George said briskly, "don't forget to wipe it after you've used it,"

"Or else anyone can read it," Fred told them warningly.

"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank."

"So, younglings," Fred said in an uncanny impersonation of his older brother Percy Weasley, "mind you behave yourself!"

George winked. "See you in Honeydukes."

The twins left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way. Callie and Harry looked at each other, then back at the map. They watched the tiny ink Mrs Norris turn left and pause to sniff at something on the floor. If Filch really didn't know... then they wouldn't have to pass the Dementors at all.

Harry raised his eyebrow at her, questioning if they should do it. It was probably a bad idea, she was almost certain they would get caught or lost, but what else was there to do on this fine Sunday afternoon?

Callie grinned. "Let's not waste any time, yeah?"

Harry at once rolled up the map, stuffing it inside of his robes and taking off out of the classroom. They went back to the common room to dress properly, and so Harry could grab a special something that would make their trip all the easier.

She bundled up with her hat and scarf, and her beat jacket made her feel all the warmer. As she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she stared for a while longer before parting her hair so her curls would drape over her shoulders. They were a mess as well; so she muttered a quick spell and now her curls were even and soft. She wondered if Harry would notice. Her cheeks went pink at the thought.

She waited by the statue of the one-eyed witch once more, a couple minutes passing before she began to grow worried. Had Harry gotten stopped by someone, particularly his biggest fan Colin Creevey? They were losing time, they didn't even know if this map would work, please Harry...

She felt a puff of cold air on her cheek. Her hand flew up to her cheek and she peered to the side, but no one was there. She spun around; but again, nothing, no one.

"Peeves, if that's you," Callie warned, annoyance now replacing her anxiety.

Then, as if he had appeared out of thin air, Harry's head was in front of her.

"AH!" Callie yelled, stumbling backward as her shout echoed down the corridor.

"Shhh!" Harry hissed, wide-eyed as he lunged toward her. His panic quickly spread to her as something soft and heavy draped over them both. Suddenly, the world outside seemed to disappear.

Callie blinked, glancing around at the empty air where Harry had just been. "Wait a second," she whispered, piecing it together. "You've an Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry grinned sheepishly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "Yeah."

"Why did I never know this?" she demanded in a hushed voice, her earlier shock replaced with incredulous curiosity.

He shrugged. "It's not exactly something I go shouting about."

"Right," Callie muttered, her mind racing. "But seriously, Harry. An Invisibility Cloak? You've been sitting on this the whole time?"

"Focus, Callie," Harry whispered urgently, peering through the faint shimmer of the cloak to ensure the coast was clear. "We can talk about it later, but right now, we've got to move before someone finds us."

It took ages, but Calista and Harry finally made it to Hogsmeade. They emerged in a small cellar underneath Honeydukes, and when they snuck upstairs it was so crowded with students that, even after discarding the cloak, no one looked twice at either of them.

As Callie scanned the store, her eyes widened as she took in the dazzling array of sweets. Jars of glowing candies, stacks of colourful liquorice wands, and bins of fizzing sherbet balls surrounded her. She reached out to inspect a particularly intriguing box of sugar quills when she suddenly collided with someone, nearly dropping it in surprise.

"Oh, sorry!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing as she turned to see who she'd bumped into.

"It's alright," a warm voice replied. Callie looked up and her heart gave a little jolt—Cedric Diggory was standing in front of her, smiling kindly. "Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah," Callie stammered, clutching the sugar quills like they might anchor her to the floor. "I wasn't paying attention. Too many sweets to look at, I guess."

Cedric chuckled. "It's easy to get distracted in here. How have you been?"

Callie blinked, startled that he even remembered her. "Oh, um, I'm great," she said quickly. "It was a bit overwhelming at first, coming here, but I think I'm getting the hang of it now."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It can be a lot at the beginning, especially with everything going on this year."

"Yeah," she replied, carefully avoiding his eyes. "And, well, being new as a third-year didn't exactly help."

Cedric's brows furrowed slightly, but his tone was kind. "That must've been tough, jumping in like that. But you seem to be doing alright."

Callie gave a small shrug, trying to hide the sudden warmth in her cheeks. "It's not too bad. Everyone's been... nice."

"Good," Cedric said, his smile reassuring. "If you ever need anything, let me know. I'm a Prefect, so I'm usually around."

"Thanks," Callie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cedric glanced back at his friends again, who were now waving more insistently. "I should go before they eat all the Peppermint Toads. It was nice running into you, Calista."

"You too," she managed, giving a quick wave as he walked away.

As soon as he was gone, Callie let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Her face was still warm, and she swore her heart was pounding louder than it should've been.

"Smooth, Callie," she muttered to herself. But despite her self-deprecating remark, she couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips before spotting Harry, who had managed to track down Hermione and Ron.

She threw her arm around Hermione, who jumped. "There you are."

Hermione looked annoyed, but didn't remove Callie's arm from her shoulders. "You too? Do you know how much trouble you'll be in if the wrong person spots you?"

"Relax, Hermione, have you seen the weather today?" Ron retorted, nodding through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. "Come on, it's Christmas. Harry and Callie both deserve a break."

Hermione bit her lip, looking extremely worried.

"Are you going to report us?" Harry asked her, grinning.

"Oh—of course not—but honestly, you two—"

Then Ron was pulling Harry away to show him something, and Callie grinned at Hermione, who was inspecting her closely.

"Did you do something to your hair?"

Callie blushed, tucking a strand behind her ear. "Oh, well, I just charmed it to look a little nicer. No biggie."

"It looks nice! I should try that sometime, but I fear my curls are always getting messy no matter what." Hermione nervously began twirling a tuft of her curls between her fingers.

Callie tilted her head, considering her. "I don't think you need to change anything about yourself, Hermione," she said earnestly. "Your hair suits you. Besides, it always looks best when you don't try to tame it."

Hermione smiled, still toying with a curl. "You really think so?"

"Of course," Callie said with a grin. "It's very... you."

Once both Hermione and Ron had paid for their sweets, the four Gryffindors left the shop to join the blizzard outside. Hogsmeade looked like something out of a Christmas card. The quaint thatched cottages and bustling shops were blanketed in a pristine layer of snow, their rooftops glistening in the winter sunlight. Holly wreaths adorned the doors, and strings of enchanted candles swayed gently in the trees, casting a warm, festive glow over the village. As they headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Hermione and Ron kept pointing out the different shops while shouting through their scarves.

"Tell you what," Ron started, his teeth chattering, "shall we go for a Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?"

"You've never had a better idea, Ron," Callie responded, followed immediately by a shudder.

It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm and smoky inside the inn. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," Ron said. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly red.

Callie, Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, somehow balancing four foaming tankards of hot Butterbeer in his arms.

"Happy Christmas!" he said happily, raising his mug.

Callie raised hers, clinking it with Ron's before taking a large sip. Soon enough, she couldn't seem to put the Butterbeer down. It was the most delicious thing she thought she ever tasted and seemed to distract her enough from the fact that she was directly disobeying Dad's orders.

A sudden breeze ruffled her hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. She looked over the rim of his tankard and her eyes widened as Harry began to choke.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub in a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak who could only be one person: Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic.

In an instant, Callie dove under the table as Hermione and Ron pushed Harry from his stool. As if three professors seeing her was bad; the Minister of Magic who Dad reminded her would not approve of her existence being here was even worse. She pressed up to Hermione's legs and curled herself into a ball to allow Harry enough room to fit while remaining small. She had always been good at hiding when needed.

Callie and Harry shared a look; and they both almost burst into laughter over the ridiculousness of the situation.

The adults all ordered their drinks, inviting Madam Rosmerta to join. Harry was digging in his jacket for the invisibility cloak, trying to make as little noise or motion as possible. Today's visit was probably one of the worst days to have come to Hogsmeade, given that it was the end of term. Not only were the students about to leave, but the professors, as well. They began discussing the situation with the Dementors, and Harry had just thrown the cloak over he and Callie when Sirius Black was mentioned.

"Do you know," Madam Rosmerta began, "I still have trouble believing it. Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought... I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead."

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," Fudge replied gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" Madam Rosmerta said, her voice alive with curiosity. "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do."

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," Professor McGonagall murmured. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," Madam Rosmerta gave a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here– ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron kicked him. Callie's eyes widened—from the records she'd found, she never gave thought to just how close Black was to the other Gryffindors in his year. Certainly not to Dad, nor Harry's own father.

"Precisely," Professor McGonagall continued. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course—exceptionally bright, in fact—but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers—"

Hagrid chuckled. "I dunno. Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money."

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" Professor Flitwick chimed in. "Inseparable!"

"Of course they were," Fudge said. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" Madam Rosmerta whispered.

"Worse even than that, m'dear..." Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?" Madam Rosmerta asked, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"An immensely complex spell," he said squeakily, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find—unless, of course, the Secret Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting-room window!"

"So Black was the Potters' Secret Keeper?" the innkeeper whispered.

"Naturally," Professor McGonagall replied. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself... and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?"

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements. Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," Fudge said heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed—"

"Black betrayed them?" Madam Rosmerta breathed.

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, ready to avenge his sister, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His Master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it—"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

McGonagall tried to shush him, but Hagrid then expressively delved into his own story about meeting Sirius Black. How Sirius had tried to take Harry at that moment, probably to finish him off or Merlin knows what... Callie felt a lump building in her throat, a dread rising inside of her that couldn't be put to rest. A long silence fell among the teachers afterwards, and it was safe to say the energy at this end of the bar had shifted.

"But he didn't manage to disappear, did he?" Madam Rosmerta then spoke up. "The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," Fudge said bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew—another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret Keeper, he went after Black himself."

"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" Madam Rosmerta said. The name seemed slightly familiar to Calista; she must've seen it on the records.

"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," Professor McGonagall sighed. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I—how I regret that now..."

"There, now, Minerva. Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eye-witnesses—Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later—told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing. 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you!' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens..."

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy... foolish boy... he was always hopeless at duelling ... should have left it to the Ministry..."

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands—I'd've ripped him limb—from—limb," Hagrid growled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," Fudge said sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I—I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him... a heap of blood-stained robes and a few—a few fragments—"

Fudge's voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.

"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," Fudge concluded. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since."

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. "Is it true he's mad, Minister?"

"I wish I could say that he was," Fudge said slowly. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man—cruel... pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark, there's no sense in them... but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored—asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door, day and night."

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" Madam Rosmerta wondered. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

"I daresay that is his—er—eventual plan," Fudge said evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing... but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again..."

Suddenly Harry had disappeared, the invisibility cloak gone with him. Callie rushed out from under the table, beginning to follow him as Hermione and Ron did the same. She didn't care if she was spotted as she left, she only cared about her friend in that moment.

She followed Harry's trail deep into the forest, her breath visible in the biting cold as she trudged through the snow. His footprints led to a rocky outcrop, stopping just before a large stone. Callie approached cautiously, her heart pounding with worry.

Quietly, she knelt beside him, her movements slow and deliberate. Her fingers brushed the edge of the cloak, and with a steady hand, she pulled it back to reveal him.

Her chest tightened at the sight of his tear-streaked face, his gaze fixed somewhere distant in the mist. Without thinking, she reached out, hesitating for just a moment before resting a gentle hand on his arm. The ache in her own heart mirrored the anguish in his.

Callie didn't say anything at first. She didn't need to. The weight of Harry's grief was so palpable it felt like it had seeped into the air around them. As she sat there, her hand still on his arm, a strange sensation began to wash over her—an ache, raw and heavy, that didn't feel like her own.

"Harry," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the wind that whispered through the trees.

He didn't respond at first, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the mist seemed to stretch endlessly. But she could feel it, the heavy, unrelenting storm inside him. It wasn't just sadness—it was anger, guilt, and a crushing sense of loss that she could almost swear wasn't entirely her own.

Her chest tightened, and she blinked rapidly as a tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn't crying—she hadn't meant to cry. But the weight pressing down on her felt suffocating, as if it was hers, as if she'd lost them too.

"It hurts," Harry muttered finally, his voice cracking.

Callie nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She understood. She didn't know how, but she did.

"I... I didn't even know them," Harry continued, his words tumbling out, raw and jagged. "But they're gone because of him. And now... now he's out there, laughing about it. Free."

Callie's hand gripped his arm tighter, grounding herself as much as him. "They loved you," she said, her voice trembling. "You know that, right? They loved you so much. And what happened... it wasn't your fault."

His eyes flicked to hers, red-rimmed and glassy. "You don't understand," he whispered. "They died because of him, but... I wasn't enough to make them stay. If I wasn't a baby—if I could've done something—"

"Stop," Callie interrupted, her voice firmer now. She leaned closer, her other hand coming to rest over his. "You were enough. You've always been enough, Harry. What happened wasn't about you not being enough—it was about them loving you so much they would've done anything to keep you safe."

The warmth between them grew, and Callie swore she could feel his emotions settling into her chest, as if they were her own. The anger, the pain, the unbearable loneliness—it was all there, mingling with her own memories, her own grief.

"You're not alone," she whispered, her voice breaking.

For a moment, Harry didn't move. Then, slowly, his fingers turned under hers, gripping her hand tightly.

"Neither are you," he said hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

A strange calm settled over them, like the quiet after a storm. The bond between them, though neither of them could name it, grew stronger in that moment. The ache didn't disappear, but it was shared now, and that made it bearable.

But there was still something unresolved—something that had been simmering beneath the surface for the past month, perhaps even since the moment Sirius Black had escaped. Callie needed answers, a clear explanation for everything that had been left unsaid. And she knew there was only one person who could give them to her.

alright, that was a biggie 😖 how are we feeling?? do we absolutely love my tragic young (eventually) lovers callie and harry? they have such a special and interesting connection, which in sure you could definitely tell from this chapter. but it also seems like something more... intense? fated? almost like, this is the first time we see a big factor of the story and their unique connection play out 🤔

next chapter is intense, i honestly want to get it out asap but, maybe next monday instead of two weeks. we're gonna get ANSWERS!! i honestly teared up while writing that one so good luck. see you soon...